01 July 2011

Mom and I were rooting through a box of my old playschool papers today, weeding out the boring items and assembling a stack of goodies. It appears I was an exuberant and preciously insane child. I drew pages upon pages full of hearts, interspersed with the odd trapezoid. Most animals I drew were given a crown and long, effeminate hair sticking out at a 45-degree angle to their bodies. Everything was fervently, heavily scribbled in purple, pink and blue crayon. I wrote a great many stories, and had elaborate apostrophes shaped like fishhooks.

Mom unearthed this dialogue from 1993:

Mom: There aren't any clean spoons. We'll have to do some dishes.
Me: A spoon is not a dish.
Mom: What's a dish?
Me: A dish is a condition.
Mom: What is a condition?
Me: A condition is a big song with dances with it. If you sing a song and do a dance with it, it's a condition.

Among the papers were some rudimentary, light-handed crayon drawings made by my best friend, Chris. His last name, which I've been trying to remember for years, was also there. Wonder if he remembers me...